Reading Nigella’s recipe for lockdown cookies (cookies made with the ingredients you happen to have on hand since the lockdown) I was prompted to give you this recipe for last-minute Microwave Chocolate Cup (literally) Cakes.
I spent a week cooking every day and storing it all away in the freezer at the beginning of my sequestering and now I’m too lazy to do much except write, organize drawers and cupboards and swing in the hammock with Morrie, but when I have a yen for chocolate, I do have this easy recipe for chocolate cake cooked in the microwave in a cup!
1/4 cup flour
1/4 cup white sugar
2 Tablespoons cocoa
1/8 teaspoon soda
1/8 teaspoon salt
Mix well in a coffee cup and microwave on high for 1 minute, 45 seconds. (I always cook it longer–2 minutes or more depending on your microwave. I also always wish I had chocolate chips and walnuts to add but never do.) Better with a scoop of vanilla ice cream on top.
I almost entered these photos for Cee’s Flower of the Day prompt. These breakfasts at a beach restaurant in La Manzanilla, Mexico were as good as they looked! Beautiful artistry for the eye and stomach.
In honor of Canadian Thanksgiving and looking forward to ours later this month, this poem is dedicated to Morrie and Diego, who profit from all culinary events in my house:
Leftovers (Dedicated to Two Hopeful Dogs)
Crying for our leftovers won’t bring you any favors. You will not taste their textures or masticate their flavors if you stand there begging. Those winsome looks aren’t working. Nor are your lapsing manners—your twisting and your jerking.
Hunger doesn’t justify your unwelcome behavior. Before we even sat down, we saw Grandpa was your savior, slipping you a turkey leg he had dipped in gravy. (That leg I’d saved for leftovers–a turkey sandwich, maybe.)
Our home-cooked meal? Delicious. That you already know. When I cooked the pies, I fed you scraps of dough. The turkey giblets boiled for gravy, later went to you. When I cooked the cranberries, you even ate a few.
You licked the pumpkin bowl so clean. You licked the beater blade when I whipped the cream for pies. Dear ones, you had it made. So when you beg for leftovers, I’ll just ignore your fuss. You ate before the guests, dears. Leftovers are for us!
Too Many Cooks (The Food Critic Invades the Kitchen)
In the guise of gourmand, I fear that you laid waste to my soup’s exquisite balance after one swift reckless taste. You lifted up the salt shaker and ruined my day’s work by heavily over-salting my consommé, you jerk! Then you made it cloudy by adding a fair dollop of sour cream that sat there like a tumor or a polyp. The soup base that I’d toiled over for many an hour, you squeezed a bit of lime into, transforming sweet to sour. So in the end when you pronounced the verdict on my soup, rating it as less than gourmet food and more like goop, you neglected to take credit for your efforts at its ruin. Now I rue the day my lovely soup chanced to meet your spoon!!
Prompt words today are gourmand, base, guise and cloudy. Links are below:
I haven’t a fine palate. I barely can distinguish between the different dishes that I’m given to extinguish. I do not know a dumpling from a fancy knish. I do not have an inkling of the different sorts of fish. So if you’re short of delicacies and you have to skimp, just dole me out some hot dogs and save your fancy shrimp for someone who appreciates the difference between them, for I am just a landlocked girl who’s never even seen them!